Hot Flash Backs
by Ginger Alli
Summary: Hotstreak goes to visit a place that holds memories, both good and bad, to find himself.


Title: Hot Flash Backs

AN: I never really witnessed how Hotstreak got to be a bad guy. And since they don't show it on TV, I made my own little rendition. Whatever I write here isn't set in stone; this is just my slice of Hotstreak fun.

Warnings: Eh, language, tidbit of angst and what not, and hints of child-molestation.

Disclaimer: I don't own Static Shock. Don't sue me.

It was fucking freezing. That was the only way to describe Dakota in January. There were little kids running around all over the icy streets throwing snowballs at each other and sledding down hills—all that winter wonderland crap. The skies were so grey they looked like the skin of a heroin addict and the snow flakes that fell melted instantly on the bridge of his nose and his cheeks.

Francis stood directly across the street from 'it.' Even though it had been abandoned and condemned God knows how long ago, it still maintained that vicious aura.

He put a cigarette between his lips and without the aid of a lighter, the dull end magically came to life with a soft glow; a thin tail of smoke wafted into his nostrils and through his hair. Exhaling slowly, a white mixture of cigarette smoke and his own breath billowed out in front of his face.

"Never thought I'd be back here," he muttered and shoved his hands into his thick, maroon overcoat though he didn't really need it.

There it stood, the Dakota North Side Hospital. In its old age, it loomed over the rest of the buildings which were mostly cheap apartments. Francis approached the decrepit edifice almost like one of those cowboys in an old western movie. The crunch-crunch of the snow between his boots was the only sound his ears picked up despite being in a big city and before he knew it, the wild red-head stood there at the front door.

The automatic sliding doors didn't slide automatically anymore. In fact, they were boarded up from the outside, and as much as he hated doing it, he flared a grape-fruit sized fireball between his fingers and burned the inexpensive wood away. The cigarette drooped from his lips slightly as he walked in, completely ignoring the "CONDEMNED" signs and caution tape. Ceiling tiles and debris covered the faded floor, and the place stank of pungent musk.

Hotstreak ambled past the front desk—

A medium-height woman dressed in an old, plaid shirt and dirty blue pants ran in cradling a boy in her arms. Her wavy red hair was mangled and everywhere and her eyes bubbled with fear. "Please! You have to help!"

Sitting behind the counter was a skinny blonde who looked more interested in her cuticles than the lady standing before her. "Calm down, miss. What seems to be the problem?"

A little flustered, she gasped, "It's my son. He's-he's got a really high fever and I don't know what to do. He can't move and he won't speak, I think he's dyi—"

"One moment miss…" Peggy, the name on the plastic tag read, leaned under the counter, retrieving a generous stack of papers, clipboard, and pen. "If you could please fill these forms out and return them to the front desk, your cooperation is appreciated." Fake. She sounded rehearsed.

Laying the prone boy on the overstuffed, leather sofa, the woman tried to the best of her abilities to read and fill out the forms and applications. However, her mild case of dyslexia created a ten foot wall. The letters switched themselves around like a game of musical chairs. As if they were notes on ledger lines, the p's and q's flipped and the b's and d's flopped. H's morphed into I's while the M's back flipped to W's.

The child on the couch moaned in pain, his face covered in sweat so much that the smooth leather under his head was shiny and slick. His clothes stuck to his body and his skin was a bloody red.

Faster.

She pushed herself harder-making herself go over the letters over and over again until she could grasp a general idea of what was required. Ten minutes later, the woman slapped the clipboard and papers on the counter, looking upset and desperate.

Slowly, too slowly, Peggy checked the paperwork, scrutinizing it. There were so many errors that she glanced up at the woman coddling her son with a look that said 'you've got to be kidding me.' Just as she was about to refuse the applications, a tall, thin man approached with a blue folder.

"Peggy, are you sure you filed Ms. Parker's—Jesus! Ma'am, what's the problem!"

Thank God! "Yes! My son, he has a terrible fever and I am not sure why! Please help him!" With the force of a bear he practically snatched the child from the mother's arms and made a mad dash for the ER.

"Follow me! Your son needs fluids immediately!" Being told twice was not a necessity as the woman raced after the doctor. He passed several workers on his way, barking terse orders without missing a beat. A set of double-doors were flung apart and the boy was gently placed upon a pristine, paper-covered bed. "Miss, I need you to step outside with me. The nurses will take care of things from here."

As he watched his mother leave, people in blue outfits crowded around him holding needles and weird things he'd never seen before in his life. A plastic mask covered his face and the white lights overheard blurred the rest of his vision.

He stood there alone now, gazing at the very first hospital bed he had laid in more than ten years ago. A sliver of light crept through from some unknown crevice, highlighting the room in haphazard spots. The cigarette end glowed brightly and retreated closer towards his lips.

It baffled him.

Save for a few pieces of furniture and dusty atmosphere, the whole damn placed seemed as though it had never been touched. The room felt so cold now, a heavy contrast from when he first entered that long time ago. That time, the room felt oppressive, boiling—like he was on fire. But that wasn't where he wanted to be. He didn't come to visit this room.

A slow walk up eight flights of stairs made his legs soar, but that didn't slow him as he made his way down the corridor. Those long hallways extended for what seemed like miles. F-Stop smirked as he ran his fingers along a lengthy, heavy black marring on the wall.

"Catch him, Franny! He's at it again!"

The four foot red-head cackled maniacally as he zoomed down the hall at top speed. His body was pressed stomach down and flat while his hair whipped back and forth from the speed of the stretcher he had mounted. "Hah," he thought, "the only way for these pricks to catch me is if they get on a stretcher too." Nurses, doctors, janitors and even visitors were victims of Francis' rampage. To the young imp, one could either get the hell out the way or get ran the fuck over.

One of the nurses was at the other end, hands on her knees huffing and puffing. "Stupid brat never wants to take his shots." With a rosy, wrinkled face, she clutched the needle in one fist.

Francis had nearly made it to the stairwell, only having just a few more doors to go. He could see the sign that said stairs, half wondering how exactly he was going to get down them while riding a stretcher. But the youngster would never know, for out of nowhere, Old Nurse Grubs appeared from behind a door with a clip board. Unable to react quickly enough, the heavy, hard wheels rolled right over the bridge of her foot, sending the makeshift race cart crashing into the wall. A loud screeching reverberated throughout the hall and when the dust settled and the smoke finally cleared, Francis lay on the ground half aware of his surroundings. His arm was broken and throbbing a powerful ache.

A quarter-sized gash glowed from his brow that oozed blood down the side of his face and soaked his shirt.

"Dammit Francis, you stupid shit! I think you broke my foot!" Grubbard hopped like a bear on one foot, holding the other in her fleshy paws.

"Good," the boy muttered before blacking out.

"No wonder I like fast cars so much." As the red-headed teen passed the doors, he didn't even bother to scan the numbers. He knew exactly which door on which side of the hall he wanted. He stopped and stood directly in front of it, staring at it and daring it to make the first move.

Room 108-F.

As if the door heard his thoughts, it creaked open, making a loud, deep, groan, and giving a sudden jumpstart to Francis's nerves. A foggy whisper raced down the hallway, bringing a cold gust with it. His gut buzzed now, and the fear he was supposed to feel earlier, fell hard into his stomach.

Gently, he stepped inside, fearing that if he went forward too suddenly, the ground would collapse beneath his feet.

"Kid, you got a visitor." Nurse Grubbard called from the hallway.

A head peaked in through the door and Francis perked up. "Ma!" The little boy jumped down from his bed and rushed to his kneeling mother's open arms.

She held him tightly, afraid that he might have disappeared any second. "Oh Francis, Mommy missed you so much." He loved the way his mother smelled, her hair especially. It smelled like those expensive shampoos in the mall and she was wearing her best clothes. She pulled him away to look in his eyes. "Guess what, honey? Mommy's got a new job!" Francis would have congratulated her, but there was something in her eyes hinting that something was wrong. He backed away very slowly and his mother's smile faded. "It's…it's a good job, hon. Don't worry…"

"But…?" The eight-year old glared.

"…It's in San Diego…" Almost, almost he blew up. He honestly felt on the edge of tearing his hair straight from his head. "I'm leaving tonight."

"And you just came to say goodbye..."

"Francis I want to take you with me, you know I do. But the doctors said you have to stay for a little while longer." A little while longer. He was so fucking tired of hearing that. That was the only answer he ever got for all of his questions. Again, he found himself in her arms, but this time, he didn't return the embrace. "Please, son. I have to go. If I don't, I might not be able to pay the insurance company to cover your hospital stay."

Snatching away, the boy shouted, "I don't care if you can't pay for it! I don't **_want_** you to pay! I hate it here. The food sucks, the doctors are mean and all the nurses do is stick me with needles!" They both sat there, Francis hating his mother more than the hospital. "I-I wanna go home…" His voice croaked because his throat felt sore and tears brimmed at the bottoms of his eyes.

This time, when his mother pulled him close again, he didn't resist. He fell against her, eyes closed, whimpering. "Ma, please get me out of here. I hate this place so much."

"I will honey. Soon…I promise." A quick squeeze and she stood up. Pecking him on the cheek, his mother removed a silver necklace with a star pendant from her pocket and placed it around his neck. "I promise."

Now the cigarette was nearing the filter. Tossing it on the chipped tiles, he extinguished it with his toe and looked around. This place was a little different than he remembered. There was an old TV hanging on the wall across from the bed above a desk. The bed was stripped and all that lay there now was a plastic mattress in a steel frame. This room stank as well, moldy and grimy.

And yet, he felt a sense of sweet comfort in the room. This was where he went to pout and cuss out the nurses in private. In this room, he stayed for three long, miserable years.

This was the room where his mother told him goodbye forever.

His eyes fell on the old, empty syringe dispenser mounted on the wall next to the entrance. In his mind, as lucid as it could be, he could hear the masculine voice of his hefty nurse. Lauren Grubbard would always growl while sticking him with needles, "Hold still," and "Little Bastard," to which he would simply comment about her lovely mustache and sour BO. Francis recalled the stumpy razor bumps all along her throat, imagining they were tiny eggs hatching aliens from her skin—a few with hair already sprouting.

The silence felt nice here though. He deeply enjoyed the way the hidden sun lit the room through the windows. He pictured in his mind the times he spent on the bed doodling fantastic ways Nurse Grubbard met grizzly demises on yellow tab paper Doctor Sims would give him.

Doctor Sims.

He was a handsome and young doctor with short black hair and brown eyes. Despite his youth, he was well respected and considered a valuable asset to the medical field. In his late twenties, he had already reached high status with the older physicians.

Sims had to have been the only good thing about the hospital. He was the doctor who rescued him from the fever. Marty- that was his first name. That was the name Francis called him. Everyone else called him Doctor Sims, or sir. But when they were alone, goofing off whenever time spared them a moment; he was referred to as Marty. The red-headed metahuman recalled the very first Christmas present Marty gave him. It was the very first Christmas present anyone ever gave him.

"For you, Francis. Merry Christmas." Unwrapping the paper in a wicked frenzy, Francis crowed in triumph. "A Game Boy? Thanks, man! I've been wantin' one of these forever!" Along with the toy came a Pokémon Red version and a thick pack of Duracell batteries.

Marty scratched the back of his head. "I knew my best patient would like it." While standing on his hospital bed, two arms encircled Marty's neck. The fluorescent lights hummed loudly in the room, and Francis pressed his face into the white jacket, uncaring of the stethoscope that dug into his own body. Marty smiled warmly and hugged the boy back. "Glad I could cheer you up Francis…you…you really deserve this." A soft wetness soaked into his jacket. "Francis, no matter what they tell you, no matter what they say to you—you're not a monster, okay?"

"Psh, you think I listen to Nurse Grubs?" Francis snorted. Marty just smiled. "Hey, Marty…when can I go home?"

Marty felt his heart sink. He knew this question was going to surface eventually. Clearing his throat, Marty looked Francis directly in the eye, "Francis, I won't lie to you and say soon." He felt the kid's hands twitch. "Your fever attacks have gone down a bit in the past few days, but we still don't know what's causing this to happen to you."

Francis snatched back, "You-You're just like the rest of them. You just want to keep me here, make me suffer, don't you!" The boy's face contorted into a grotesque mixture of pain and sorrow.

"Francis!" Marty shouted. The boy backed down immediately, unused to Marty Sims, his best bud in the world, getting an attitude with him. "Francis…" he spoke much more softly, "That's not true and you know it." Marty pulled up a rolling stool and sat down. "If I honestly, truly didn't care about you, I'd send you out of this hospital first chance I got. And not think twice about what happened to you." Ruffling his head once, Marty poked him on the nose, "I just want to help you and to make sure you're still here to give ole' Grubs a hard time," He winked.

"Heh, Don't worry about that, Marty. That's a given."

"I don't worry about you at all, Francis. I don't need to." He separated from the kid finally and scratched the boy's scalp affectionately. "You're gonna be alright." Francis smirked. It wasn't a malicious, plotting smirk. It was one of those rare, comrade-like smirks that he only shared with the doctor. "I have to see a few more patients Francis, but I'll be back tomorrow to check up on you."

Another broken promise.

A balding man in his late forties walked in, tugging at his stethoscope with one hand and gripping his clipboard tightly in another. Okay son, time for me do a check up on you.

Francis frowned. "Where's Marty?"

"Doctor Martin couldn't make it this afternoon. I'm filling in for him." Francis automatically didn't like this guy. There was something shifty and just plain wrong about him. "Now, if you could take off your shirt, I need to check your breathing." Grudgingly, the child pulled his shirt from over his head. Since when did the doctors check his breathing and heart beat; that was usually the nurse's job.

A sudden, instinctual fear rose up in Francis' throat as the strange man approached him. He shivered as the cold metal was pressed to his chest and the warm, pudgy hands pressed into the small of his back. "That's it…yes…very good." The doctor cooed. "Such a good boy." Francis felt sick. This weirdo was too touchy-feely to be a doctor. "Now breathe in…" Instead of a fluid intake of air like with Marty, Francis breathed in awkwardly and unsteadily. Then the small, chilly metal jumped periodically around his chest and then across his back. "Such a good strong boy you are Francis…" Finally, the metal was removed and his hands were pressing in his throat under his jaw. "Does this hurt?"

"…No."

"How about here?" His fingers moved downward, pressing in his shoulders.

"No."

His wandering hands moved to his ribs, and this time they massaged the flesh there. "How about this? Does this hurt?"

"Look, buddy, are you almost through!" Francis downright glared at the doctor and tried to pull away.

Suddenly the man's grip tightened and Francis found himself stuck. "Look here, kid. I've heard all about you. You're the trouble maker who peed in a nurse's coffee and mixed up the labels on the medicine cabinets…among other shit." The ten-year old felt like he was going to cry. Never in his life had he been this scared. "For all the shit you pulled you little bastard, you should be out on the streets right now in the cold. If it weren't for that ass-backwards Sims, you'd be sleeping with the bums." The hands softened, but only a bit. "Now…I could rat him out. Get you kicked out of here…but…" Then those hands moved back and forth across his ribs, and two, ugly thumbs lightly covered his nipples. "If you cooperate, Francis, and let the doctor do his work, you won't have to deal with any of that." The man's stinky breath was all over his face and in his nose. Francis could physically feel his pupils shrink as Dr. Wills met his frightened eyes straight on. It was just like those poor dupes in Jurassic Park right before the raptors devoured them.

A light rapping sounded at the door. "Doctor Wills, we have an emergency in the next room. Please assist." Sucking between in teeth in frustration, the doctor tugged his stethoscope back around his neck.

"I can ruin 'Marty,' kid. If you don't want something bad to happen to him, you better not tell a soul what happened today…" Those old, grey eyes snickered as Dr. Wills exited the room.

Shivering violently, a wide-eyed Francis leaned over to his bed pan, and threw up his lunch.

Nothing was ever the same with Francis. Marty stopped coming when his wife had a baby. Different doctors came and went, the youth never allowed himself to get close to another physician. The red-head always kept that one, evil check up hidden away in a chest full of his sorrows and anguish. Doctor Wills never came back either, thank God. But he would always remember those soft, deadly words and those wicked grey eyes. That sort of fear made him weak in the ankles, turning him into a feeble mass.

Hotstreak's fists pulsed from being held so tightly as he drew himself from the memory, unwilling to dwell on it anymore.

"You alright, dawg?" A deep voice pounded from behind. Flaring instantly into a walking flame, Hotstreak spun around to see a completely darkened figured standing in the doorway. "Easy, homie. Not gonna jump you." The character held up his hands calmly. "Saw you bust in this place, and got curious, that's all."

"Well, you ain't got no business following me, Ebon! I don't need you watchin' my back!" Francis cooled down to a smolder, and his fighting stance slackened.

Though one couldn't see it physically, Ebon smirked. "Cool man. I was just in the neighborhood. Thought I'd holler at ya for a minute."

"What'd ya want?"

Ebon shuffled into the room, observing everything while wondering what made the F-Stop so interested in a condemned hospital. "Crew's been a little down without you man." Tinkering with an old IV rack, Ebon left it alone to face the pyro-powered meta-human.

"Aww," Francis mockingly swooned, "Didn't know you guys missed me."

Expecting the snide remark, Ebon continued, "Seriously man. Shit just hasn't been the same since you left. We haven't been able to hit as many places as we like, and you're the only man who's got our weed connections." A snort escaped Francis' lips, as if he were trying to stifle a laugh. "The mermaid misses you too."

"Aqua Maria?" He thought of her watery, sinewy figure curling about the hideout, cursing Shiv out in fluent, dangerous Spanish.

Ebon shifted his weight from one shadowy foot to another. "Matter of fact, we was thinkin' of hittin' this place uptown. A real nice gig called 'The French Portico.' Be a real shame if we didn't have our fire-starter there to get the party going." Ebon looked out the half-boarded windows. "That is, if you ain't got nothing else better to do…"

Francis felt odd at that moment. Someone missed him? People missed him? Hell, Ebon had actually searched for him. The dark, bang baby actually went out of his way to find him and bring him "home." Francis did long to see Aqua Maria again…and Talon and Shiv, and Kangor.

"…Just a second, gotta get what I came for…" Walking quickly over to the dresser across the room, he opened up the last drawer and opened a secret compartment in the bottom. Retrieving the silver, star necklace his mother gave him and the dusty Game Boy, he smiled. "Yes! Still here." Ebon raised his eye questioningly. "What!…They're for my sister. I want her to have 'em!" he barked as he pocketed his treasures and stood up, ready to leave.

Breathing the dust and rancid aura of the hospital one last time, he paused, cleared his mind, and grinned. "Let's roll."

An: This wasn't nearly as short as I thought it would be. Maybe I'll put another chapter or some sort of addition to it. Hope you guys liked it.


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